


Dose of Chloroethane

by Fervious



Series: Spiderpool AU Oneshots [1]
Category: Marvel
Genre: BDSM, Dom/sub, Fetish Club, M/M, Parker Industries, no underage peter kk, not mcu peter, this is fetish heavy ok
Language: English
Status: In-Progress
Published: 2020-02-07
Updated: 2020-02-11
Packaged: 2021-02-28 03:41:33
Rating: Explicit
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 3
Words: 5,697
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/22597240
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/Fervious/pseuds/Fervious
Summary: One day, Spiderman is allowing Deadpool to tend to his injuries. They discover together he's got a weakness to Chloroethane.Months later, Peter's exploring this new information. Wade has no idea he's an active participant.
Relationships: Peter Parker/Wade Wilson
Series: Spiderpool AU Oneshots [1]
Series URL: https://archiveofourown.org/series/1625992
Comments: 2
Kudos: 53





	1. Chapter 1

**Author's Note:**

> Be gentle I'm a noob writer  
> If you want to beta lmk? If you beta I'll want you to review clarity, spelling, and grammar errors. Not plot because this is literally just a small fic that prolly ain't going anywhere long term

It had been the most innocent accident in the world. Three days after their fight with Mysterio, the bruises were starting to fade from Spiderman’s legs. It had been an innocent offer, Deadpool offering up his med kit to dull the ache. When Pool had pulled out the aerosol bottle, Peter hadn’t felt any reason to decline. He likely (rightfully) suspected it was a reason for Wade to see his legs, but hadn’t fought it. It wasn’t like Wade hadn’t patched him up several times prior. 

So imagine his shock when Spiderman of all people ate shit in his bathroom, nearly bashing his skull in on the vanity. A startled yelp and loud, “fuck!” was all he heard, then he found Spidey bracing himself on the vanity, legs limp as he rubbed his jaw. Spiderman tried to wobble to a stand but his legs buckled and he caught himself again, not knocking himself silly this time. 

Wade stopped to stare, mind working so hard to comprehend you could practically see the loading bar overhead. 

Spiderman got him a glare that was visible even through the mask. Of course against all logic, Wade cracked a smile. This was just too ridiculous. Sure, the guy was capable of being tired. But he had seen Spiderman fight, this man could fight for two hours and barely break a sweat. 

He’d been sitting on Wade’s couch playing Overwatch for the last three hours. There was no logical reason he would be tired. Nope.

He’d discovered Spidey’s weakness.

Deadpool squealed, “I found Spiderman’s kryptonite!”

Spidey gave the world’s most disgruntled noise, “You better not tell anyone.”

“You mean no one knows.”

Spidey threw a poisonous look, “I didn’t know. Now I’m stuck in the room with one of the world's most infamous mercenaries with jello legs.” 

“I didn’t know you held me in such high regard, it means a lot Spidey!” he gushed, “Don’t worry, I’ll help you to the couch.”

\---

The Underground was an exclusive club north of New York with it’s own building, bar, and club. But that wasn’t why it was one of those places you had to get an invite. The reason was simpl:, one of the only sex dungeons in the New York area that allowed mutants. With strong protocols in place to keep the mutants and non-mutants safe, it had become something of a sort of haven for the sexually active mutant community. Having sex with a mutant was often considered weird and even possibly dangerous to non-mutants. One wrong slip, oops a broken leg. Oh you have an extra limb? That’s awkward. Or do you slip up and go invisible mid climax? The Underground was one of the only places non-mutants with a fetish for someone with enhanced abilities to give them a good dickin down. And on that note, it was also one of the places mutants could engage in acts with other mutants. Mutations like extra strength often made dom and sub relationships awkward if the sub could overpower the dom in a scene where they wanted to be overwhelmed.

Of course, Deadpool was a regular customer. It wasn’t that he was enhanced at birth, but we was a publicly known mercenary with regenerative skills. Many of his more… obscure jobs came from customers there. However Wade wasn’t interested in snuff so the interest died away and he became less involved over the months. 

But when a fight broke out, the Underground was suddenly a cascade of mutants tersely trying to escalate it. Usually when tensions ran high everyone was mature enough to back down in a room full of other mutants, but this time it was different. It took everything they had to kick the men out, and the fight became worse in the parking lot. 

Suddenly, there’s heros showing up and trying to break it up. Spiderman swings in, breaks it up with the class of a master magician, and the two men try to go back in the building. That’s when the dungeon master informed the members that they had forfeited their memberships and must leave. 

Spidey must’ve heard, because when one of the two men began to argue, he sighed and turned around. Upon entering the threshold of the building the eyes on his suit got wider and he paused, taking it in. Then he recollected himself, trying to be as professional as possible. A terse conversation with the dungeon master and the man involved later, things seemed to be resolved. Spiderman turned to leave the building when a woman decided to act on her personal wet dream. 

She wrung her hair, then in a sultry voice said, “Oh Spiderman, what would I do to be webbed up by you!”

Deadpool saw the way Spidey went stiff and Wade had to choke down a laugh. Spiderman’s eyes glanced around and it appeared he knew better than to kink shame in a fetish club. Lord knows Spidey kink shamed Wade on a regular basis, but Wade didn’t mind. 

Spiderman’s eyes twitched and his voice was almost neutral, “Consent is a two way street, I suggest you don’t sexually harass a hero.”

The woman shrunk back at the accusation, eyes widening. And just like that, Spiderman was gone.


	2. Chapter 2

Alright, Peter was lying to himself if he said he wasn’t interested. He’d gone digging around on Tor to find the club’s website. Perched with his legs crossed on his bed, he clicked the link on his laptop and allowed the website to greet him. He began to read.

The Underground is a mutant friendly fetish club with strict rules and regulations which allows mutants and non-mutants to safely and sanely participate in sexual acts including but not limited to various fetishes. 

Our policies aim to provide a safe, confidental way to participate in Risk Aware Consensual Kink and provide educational opportunities for individuals who would like to participate in fetish. If you are a mutant, you are encouraged to obtain a voucher from an existing participating party in order to participate. You can obtain vouchers by attending munches and seminars. Our seminars are open to the public.

Of course, Peter started scrolling through their FAQ and policies. He became less and less skeptical as he browsed the website. STD testing, funding educational seminars on consent to local colleges, funds for the victims of sexual abuse, seminars on shibari and kinbaku, “Super Strength Mutants: How to Dominate Safely”, and various other things. 

What was even more interesting was the bar. The bar is technically open to the bar, but is a feitsh bar. It was likely a way for voyeurs to get their thrill. Peter was surprised there wasn’t a fake nurses clinic, too. Although he supposed since they offered STD testing they must have a clinic. Lord knows how many adult films were recorded there. 

Pulling himself away from the screen and clicking it closed, Peter’s head whirled. He wasn’t shocked, he knew that fetish existed. He just didn’t know it was. Such a big thing? Especially with mutants. Dating or getting out there as a mutant was a scary experience and Peter was only well acquainted because he’d had girlfriends willing to make it work. Even then, dating as Peter Parker rather than Spiderman made things difficult. What if he accidentally grabbed the headboard too hard? What if she snooped around and found his suit? Or she was a spy sent to him to get industry secrets? God, it was a fucking mess. His life was a mess, his sex life included.

If something got out, anything minor at all, people would begin to wonder what else is Peter Parker hiding? And he just couldn’t deal with that. But, he wasn’t prepared to put himself out there, either. He wasn’t going to go around looking for vouchers. He could go to a seminar, but it would feel odd to go where no one knows him. Right? 

He was thinking about this far too much, and Peter knew from experience the best way to get this out of his system was to go into the professional head space. He grabbed his web shooters out his night stand.

\---

It was about two am when Deadpool reached managed to pull himself over the side of the building. Spiderman sat in his trademark crouch, his feet on a railing, on the balls of his heels and ready to move at any moment. But he hadn’t moved. Wade didn’t bother to be quiet as he tramped closer, smiling under the mask when Spidey turned to acknowledge him over his shoulder before turning and sitting on his ass, facing him. Behind him was an over five story drop.

Deadpool announced, “I have a present!” then started rooting around in his outfit. 

Peter eyed him suspiciously as Wade searched his uniform, “Uh. Pool. Why are you rooting around in you- I don’t want to know.”

Once he found it, he held it out to the hero with a grin, “Tada! First class ticket to fetish paradise!”

Peter accepted the gift, squinting down at the curly font. He had done a massive paper on the creation and usage of government cataloging typewriter fonts, models, and serials numbers. He’d gone so far to highlight several case studies where the typewriter was a contributing factor to linking crimes together and discovering clues as to who a serial killer was. He was well versed in the subject of typewriters insofar as the prices, rarity, and individuality of each one.

It was an Olympia typewriter, no doubt. Olympians went for a wide range of prices, depending on font and extra characters. This letter was entirely in cursive with semicolons, and commas, as well as numbers. Whomever this was, they owned a highly unique piece of machinery worth over three hundred dollars. Even more interesting was the card it was on. It was a personalized texture, with pressed ridges and pre-stamped patterns around the corners. It read as follows:

_Dearest Potential Member,_

_You have received an invitation to join The Underground; if you accept you are to bring this invitation to The Underground and request a mutant entrance exam. The test will include sexually transmitted disease testing, a safety test, and an informational packet._

_Sincerely, the Dungeon Master_  
_207 New Castle Rd_  
_New Haven, New York_

Peter immediately became flustered, going bright red under the mask and sputtering, “Pool! I can’t believe you!” but he didn’t throw the card back in his face. 

Wade teased, “I think the dungeon master likes you, Spidey!”

Peter groaned, drawing a hand over his mask, “This isn’t happening to me.”

Wade clapped a hand on his back, “Just wait. Next time you save someone, it’ll be a stripper. Then you’ll have her pimp asking for your ass you.”

Peter pushed him away, but not hard, “You just fucking jinxxed it, you chode.”

\---

It was a trap, he reasoned. He took the invite home. He put it under uv light, backlit it, heated it, tested for all types of secret serial codes or anything that would allow a dungeon master to know whom the distributing party was.

Three hours later, he had exhausted all ideas. He began to admit defeat, that if there was a serial code then it was easily one of the most complicated ones he’d seen yet. He’d considered the idea that the intricate border and paper was like a build in version of a serial code, but when he went on various websites to view existing invites, he found that there were three distinct reoccuring themes. 

Digging around for more information, he found that the normal invites had minimal texturing and no color stamping whatsoever. Apparently it was a one time redeem to waive entry fees. But the kind that Peter had with red itching was a full year prepaid membership should he choose to accept, beginning with the day of the exam. 

It took a lot of rooting around, but eventually he found a thread where some prude had received the third type of invite. An on the house invite. Either it was someone well known, or someone they wanted to hire. For example, soliciting magic users to stop dangerous magic, inhumanly strong men to act as bouncers, and it workers.

It workers, he mused. Following that strand of information, he found other threads where whitehat hackers spoke of hack The Underground’s backend. Apparently it was well known in the hacker community that Tony Stark himself had worked on the security system for The Underground. Peter couldn’t find it himself to even doubt this; if the system included confidential information about SHIELD members and possibly even Avenger members, Tony would probably want to have it well protected. Peter cringed at the idea of whom among the Avengers would be most likely to have memberships. God, no.

Then again, there were probably villains there, too. Peter could just imagine Loki enjoying himself at such an establishment. That made him uncomfortable to think about as well, but it also meant it TA was probably housing many villains and heroes who would never be caught dead together otherwise. If nothing else, it had done something that the government was unable to do on it’s own.

If nothing else, the club was an incredibly interesting social experiment. But Peter knew there was more, it was touting itself as a way to help mutants safely explore limits, weaknesses, dynamics, and powerplay.

And two months ago, by sheer accident, he’d discovered that chloroethane weakness. He could explore that in a safe environment, if he wished. But Spiderman knew better than to jump straight into the exam. It was likely common that people who obtained invites accepted them within the first month of receiving them, he reasoned. It made sense. 

So he bided his time. The invite sat in the secret compartment in his drawer for a month and four days. He was careful that any digital footprint or trace he left behind was reasonable for a civilian. It helped that there had been a brief blurb in the news about the business, and since Peter had a background in the news industry it would make sense for him to stay in the know.


	3. Orientation

Peter knew everything he could need to know before he entered the club. Maaaaaybe he over prepared. And yeah, there were some things that were so unique to TA that he probably still wasn’t fully prepared. That was the nature of having a club which accommodated mutants and likely had participating villains, heroes, mercenaries, shield agents... Peter pushes down these thoughts. He doesn’t want to talk himself out of it.

He dresses business casual. Dark jeans, button down shirt, and his phone on mute. He wasn’t here to impress, just look presentable. Peter’s not even asked to procure the invite when he walks in and this leads him to wonder if something automatically identifies him. Nonetheless, Peter is led to another room with tile floors and a faux leather chair. He recognizes the clinical smell of the room and knows long before the nurse comes in he’s being tested for sexually transmitted diseases. Good to know they stick to club policy. 

She’s polite, very respectful and doesn’t give him any judgmental vibes as she goes down the typical list about his sex life. Which is fun. What catches him by surprise if that she informs him that there are additional clubs for individuals who test positive. Interesting, he muses. 

The healing factor of course means he’s not going to have any sexually transmitted diseases, so he’s perfectly relaxed and just goes along with the nurses requests. The longest he has been sick since being bitten was probably a bad bout of intestinal flu which lasted several days. As far as Peter was aware, his body actively fought off transmittable diseases. It was a bitch, really. He would love to be able to get a doctor’s note once in a blue moon, but it meant there was never a day Spiderman would be unable to work. And no one could draw a link between Peter Parker’s sick days and days that Spiderman is off the streets. Occasionally he calls off sick as Parker just to throw people off, careful not to spend that extra time as Spiderman.

Once he’s complied with all the requests, the nurse leads him to another office. The frosted glass window has silky fancy writing which labels it as the Dungeon Master’s office. The attendant pauses, rapping on the door lightly with her knuckles. Peter wonders if anyone inside would even be able to hear that without super hearing. Irregardless, a mild mannered voice calls in response, “Come in.”

The dungeon master isn't completely new to Peter. He met him once, when Spiderman intervened to break up a fight. Last time, the dominant’s hair was up in a messy bun. This time, the man has his long blond hair down to freely fall down his shoulders and back. Peter knows his eyes are blue and he’s got nicely built arms. Unlike Thor, his face is clean shaven. He has no piercings or visible tattoos. There’s a placard on his desk which reads Robert Reynolds. His v-neck shirt is black with yellow trim and his smile is respectful, “Let’s get started.”

Peter passes the sanity and safety tests after handing over his invite. When Mr. Reynolds informs him that his HIV test is negative Peter shrugs. Then they launch into basic rules, accommodation, and unspoken rules about etiquette. He’s given another clipboard with a fetish and orientation checklist. Peter briefly feels a bit leery about providing all this information freely, then he remembers it’s technically anonymous and technically for his safety. Pushing down his worries, he completes the forms to the best of his ability. He checks off, “maybe” to quite a few things, and “hard limit” to several others. When he’s finished he slides the checklist back over the desk. He has a feeling that Mr. Reynolds is present to answer any questions about the fetishes and orientations on the list. Fortunately, he’s already done his research on the most common fetishes. And probably obscure ones, too. 

The clipboard is exchanged for yet another. This one is about being a mutant. The first question is a checkbox asking if he’s a mutant with yes and no boxes. He already has a plan for this, so he checks yes and moves onto the rest of the form. Careful to leave out any sticky details, he relies on focusing on the fact that he has super strength and superhuman reflexes. Minor healing factor as well, resistant to every known drug. Since his webs aren’t biological, it’s the perfect excuse to leave them out. That alongside his sense of danger. Technically he’s not a mutant, but that’s something only a select few know about Spiderman and would be a distinguishable trait. The exact kind of thing he wants to avoid.

There’s an empty line for known weaknesses. He reviews his prior information before sitting there, tapping the butt end of the pen on the board with a clicking noise. Does he really want to give it out? Technically this is a random nobody who has an invite. Not Peter Parker, not Spiderman. He considers himself carefully before writing down CH₃CH₂Cl. Below it is a row asking him to describe the effects, which he writes, “Nullifies powers,” without really going into detail. When he’s done, he hands the completed board back. Mr. Reynolds carefully reads the material on the board, then leans it against the edge of his display and appears to enter the information into a system. Peter hears each individual click of the mouse in great detail. Eventually, Robert settles back into his seat as he scrolls through the information. His secretary comes in obviously careful to gently open the door. She holds out an object to Peter. It’s a strange object, a bracelet which is smooth and carefully color coded. When tapped, an overlay briefly explaining what the colors mean pops up. Peter almost whistles apperciately, but that’s something Spiderman would do. Not Peter Parker.

“That’s your pass,” Mr. Reynolds explains with practiced grace, “A glance at a wrist can determine sexual compatibility. You now have full access to our bar, club, and playhouse. You will have to set your username.”

Peter instantly decides that he likes it. It’s tasteful, discreet in public, and is a nice white color. He won’t have to worry about quizzing potential partners for basic information nor anyone making egregious assumptions about him. He turns it, studying it for details like how it charges, and if it has any buttons or is entirely touch screen. 

Mr. Reynolds divulges further, “There’s information in this packet about it. If you’d like a different color, we have a variety. This one comes with the pre-paid membership and could serve as a spare in case you lose it.”

Peter appreciates the offer but isn’t one to be picky, so he shakes his head, “That won’t be necessary.” The man gives a slight smile, then hands him the packet without responding. Peter takes it as the dismissal it is. 

He waits two days to return to the Underground. 

Peter decides to ease himself into the community. After reading the manual, he has his TA bracelet fully optimized and has browsed all the information accessible through it. The information isn’t stored in the device but instead it connects with an auth key to a TA cloud which contains the information, making it impossible to steal the bracelet and force it to cough up the information without access to the net. Peter supposed this meant all TA locations had internet access. Additionally, in order to keep anyone from simply stealing a bracelet and accessing the cloud each bracelet is programmed to recognize the user’s pointer finger in order to unlock it. If you want, there’s also a dual auth system which requires a brief passkey on top of that, which Peter enables. It’s a second secret identity and he’s going to keep it under wraps as securely as possible, he tells himself.

It had been years ago in his teens when the majority of the Avengers team became aware of his identity. At first, it had only been Tony Stark. He’d tracked Peter down by one of the compounds he used to manufacture his webs. After that, Tony had helped him cover his tracks by directly supplying Spiderman. He’d been introduced to the rest of the Avengers over time and became quick friends with Captain America. Mr. Rogers had quickly turned from potential team member to mentor, and it was one of the only people that Peter could openly trade blows without worrying about hurting him. Tony encouraged the relationship for years and Peter had become a much better fighter as well as better at making decisions.

Yeah, Captain America was his mentor. But Peter still didn’t consider himself leader material. For one, he wasn’t really a person to boss people around unless someone’s in danger. It felt weird to boss anyone around that he felt was more experienced than him, as well. He would rather hang around the more experienced heros and chip in where he’s needed. 

His alter-ego as Spiderman aside, he didn’t want to come off as an alpha-style hero in the bar. He picks a pair of black skinny jeans, a plaid button down, and a simple black shirt. To push more toward deviating from his Parker outfits, he grabs a black beanie he’s never worn in his life as well. It makes him look younger than he really is and that works for him. He considers putting a fake freckle on his cheek or chin, but decides against it. Knowing him, he would forget it once and someone would notice. Sure, he could pass it up as putting concealer over it… but he’d rather not worry about it. 

Peter has avoided bars for years because he thinks it’s really annoying to pretend to be drunk around his friends (lord knows Harry had dumped an absorbent amount of money trying to actually get him drunk), so he’s never really to be able to just enjoy himself. Of course, when he read about the bar he found out that they could dose it with chloroethane… and he wasn’t going to pass up the ability to get buzzed without drinking four hundred dollars worth of hard liquor. 

He was excited, actually. His life as Spiderman was inherently stressful, especially when the newest budget quality hero popped up. That didn’t account for the years he’d been in school or dealing with the bigger baddies such as Goblin, Electro, and Kingpen. And Peter could have really used a drink for the first time he met Deadpool. Being pushed out of plane onto an island was not how he planned his day to go when he started associating with x-men. 

Yet, years later, he was dealing with a Deadpool that wasn’t hired to murder him. Peter had no idea why he hadn’t been hired in recent years, but it kept him on edge for years. Eventually he brought it up once. 

_Spiderman turned and stared Deadpool down, his body posture hostile, “What do you want, Deadpool? If you haven’t forgotten, you’re a mercenary. You’re just going to turn on me the moment there’s a job listing to “unalive” me,” he’d snarked._

_Deadpool had stopped walking, and Peter could just feel the guilt pouring off the man. Peter turned to look over his shoulder as Wade began to talk, “I know… you think I’m dirt. Dirt with a key to the Avengers tower. But still… I’m trying to change. And you know what?” Peter waited as he continued, “It’s hard trying to be like you. I thought if we pallied around a bit-”_

__He cut him off, “That I could teach you what...? To be good? A “hero”?_ _

__”No. Something like that isn’t taught. It earned. I thought if I hung with you, doing the right next thing, I could earn it…” he looked down somberly, “... and maybe your respect, too.”_ _

_It had been hard to push away the man after that interaction. And you know? Many times he wondered if he was fighting a useless battle after he had to web a sword or gun to prevent a killing shot. But when Wade had invested in rubber bullets, and incidents became further in between, he began to think he was making the change that the two wanted to see. If he was a snarkier person, he’d put whiteboard up that read, “Days since last incident:” but it wasn’t like they had a common space._

_He was spending too much time as a ceo of Peter Parker Industries, and it was good to spend some time not being Peter Parker nor Spiderman. Deadpool made his time as Spiderman insanely difficult as well, not that he was doing it intentionally any more. It was hard to get through to a man who laughed at threats and had inhuman pain tolerance._

_The bar was called Hellholhe and Peter wanted to know why a bar had a name that meant, “Bright Light” in german was a fetish-friendly bar. And why did someone pick that name so that most people would assume it was the german way to say hell hole. Yes, he looked it up. No, that didn’t make him weird. Just observant._

_The bar looked normal on the outside. The front entrance had a back lit sign with the words, “Hellhohle” written in flame themed text. At night, the decorative top made it look like flames were drawn across the top edge. The building was brick with two black-frosted panels with the emblem of a flame starting at the bottom and flowing upwards, over eight feet tall. There was a frosted panel above the considerably normal sized front door with a metal decorative handle._

_When Peter entered, it was a relatively light Tuesday night. There weren't many people present. The interior was a modern design, with rows of lights and many black vinyl booths lining the walls. The bar had a white marble top, and black metal hardware for the taps. He muttered, “Man, whoever designed this place had a kink for black,” and moved to sit at the bar, his left hand sliding forward as he leaned in, revealing the white bracelet._

_The bartender comes over to greet him, and Peter intones, “I’d like something that’ll actually get me drunk.”_

_The tender tilts his head slightly and requests, “Username?”_

_Every member of the club has a username; his own is Cartridge. He doubts anyone other than Tony even knows he uses cartridges for his webshooters, so it’s a nice little inside joke for him. It’s unique and the name wasn’t taken, so he didn’t have to slap any numbers on the end of it which is a plus. He intones shortly, “Cartridge.”_

_The bartender pulls up a display, typing in his name. He nods and moves to the back room, disappearing. When he returns he has a small vial and doses the drink in view of Peter before sliding it across the bar towards him. He drinks it without question, knowing that the gas typically returns to gas the moment it’s exposed to air. It tastes a bit sweet. Behind him, he hears a familiar voice, “Well, that’s a poison I haven’t seen before.”_

__Wade, his brain supplies,_ as he turns a bit in his chair, motioning for another, “This time plain.” Deadpool settles in beside him. Peter looks him over briefly. He’s in his normal red and black suit but this time he’s got a dark green jacket with shoulder pads and three zippers diagonally across the breast section on each side. There’s zippers on the sleeves, one on the collar, cuffs, and bottom corner. The sleeves end at just the elbows, but when he moves it bunches up at his elbows. He’s still wearing his utility belt. He’s not subtle at the way he checks Peter’s bracelet. _

_Peter pulls his eyes away, focusing on watching the bartender. Wade leans towards him, undoubtedly grinning below the mask, “You’re new cutie.”_

_Peter grumbles, “And you assume I’m new why?”_

_Wade snorts, leaning back slightly, “I own this place, and I know everyone that walks to through the doors.”_

_Peter’s head instantly twitches to fix him with a shocked look, “You own this place?”_

_Wade grins under the mask, “Yup. Came with the divorce.”_

_“Okay, I’ll bite. Who named it, your partner or yourself?”_

_The response is easy, “Joint decision.”_

_Peter grins, “Okay, so which one had the fetish for black interiors and which knew enough German to make it a joke?”_

_Wade chuffs a laugh, “Ha! Well, she did the designing. I named it. I thought it was ironic that a succubus liked black, shades of gray, and a bit of white so much.”_

_Peter snorts in return, “Shiklah, right?”_

_Wade sends him a look, “A mutant who knows Shiklah? Have we met?”_

_Peter thinks back to attending the wedding, “Nah. You were the talk of the community for awhile. People took bets on how long it’d last.”_

_Wade tone turns dismayed, “Good things never last.”_

_Peter feels bad for snarking about his ex-wife, so he thinks back on his failed relationships in turn, “Yeah,” he punctates it with a drink, “that’s why I’m delighted this place allows me to get buzzed.”_

_Wade leans in, pushing closer, “Mm. Any chance you’d like to do more than get buzzed?”_

_Peter freezes, stunned. Yeah, Wade had hit on him many times. He never, ever thought the man was serious. As Spiderman, Deadpool had always respected his space and never grabbed on held him inappropriately. He’d always thought it was because Wade looked up to him or was trying to make him uncomfortable, but this cemented the fact that he’s not actually kidding when he compliments Peter._

_Don’t get Peter wrong, he wants to get involved with someone eventually. But Wade Wilson? This wasn’t something he’d really considered. If it went wrong as Spiderman, the man was immortal. At least he wouldn’t be a dead ex. Wade and him already had a great friendship as much as he liked to deny it, the man is genuinely good company. He may be a bit unhinged, but with time spent together Peter found it seemed to decrease with Peter around to tell him right from wrong._

_Wade’s hand scratched the back of his neck as a reflex, although he couldn’t actually touch skin, “That sounds like a no.”_

_Peter basically heard the record scratch, “No, Wade, I just,” he thought carefully about his next words even as Wade paused from where he’d stood to move away, “... never thought I’d be seriously propositioned by Deadpool.”_

_Wade’s mask scrunched at the forehead and eyebrow area, “Seriously propositioned?”_

_Peter’s eyes widened, “Uh- yeah, I mean relatively serious,” he tried to correct himself back to being vague, “You’ve got a reputation.”_

_Wade shrugged, “I’d never get laid if I only asked once in a blue moon,” he explains easily. This makes sense to Peter, so he relaxes a bit in his seat, shoulders dropping._

_Peter doesn’t want to completely let him down or go silent, so he responds, “Maybe. I’ve never thought about it? We could trade usernames...” he volunteers so it doesn’t seem as empty._

_Wade perks up at this, “Sounds great! What’s your username?”_

_Peter smiles in response, hands going to his bracelet. There was a reason he’d put it on his left hand, so that he could fake being left handed or ambidextrous. The amount of webslinging and fighting he did meant he couldn’t be weak in his left hand. There was a reason he had even muscle coverage over both arms._

_Once names are traded, Wade makes sure to offer to pay for one of his drinks. “Cartridge” accepts, since he’s technically only drank one since he’s got dosed. He probably burned through at least half of the alcohol in the first drink before the chloroethane was metabolized. Then, they began to talk._


End file.
